The Monday following the event, school felt louder than usual. Everyone was still buzzing about the projects that had been showcased, but I kept my distance.
While classmates chatted in the hallways, I kept my eyes on my phone, checking the number of downloads for my game. I had quietly uploaded it to Itch.io on Sunday night, after adding an extra menu with accessibility options and a brief thank-you note in the credits. I only shared the link on the school's internal forum and in two small developer groups. Nothing more.
During the first class of the day, I opened the system interface for the first time in days. A small notification icon blinked in the bottom right corner of my vision.
[You've completed the mission: First Public Creation!]
Reward: 1 skill point + new tab unlocked
My breath caught for a moment. A new tab?
I mentally tapped the alert, and the interface reorganized itself. A new button appeared next to "Missions," "Skills," and "Inventory."
[New Tab Unlocked: Reputation]
I tapped it, and a screen with several panels appeared. The first displayed a number: 12. Below it, a bar labeled "Anonymous Fame." Another panel listed categories: "mídia," "Influence." Most were low level, but marked as active.
So that was it. My online presence as a developer was being tracked by the system. And with the advantage or perhaps the drawback of not being directly linked to my identity. As long as no one knew I was the creator, those points wouldn't affect my attributes. But they were there, quietly accumulating, waiting to be revealed.
I closed the tab gently and looked out the classroom window. The sky was clear, but my mind was racing. I needed to plan my next move.
During break, I headed up to the rooftop again. The same place where I had coded most of the game had become my spot for reflection. I opened my notebook and started sketching out ideas. No teams. No partnerships. The next project would be mine from start to finish. And this time, I'd make full use of the system from the start.
I created a new mental task board:
1. Explore more system skills.
2. Increase my reputation in a controlled way.
3. Study more about interface design and sound.
When the bell rang at the end of the day, I felt something had changed. It wasn't just about making games anymore. It was about building something greater, step by step. And for the first time since the system awakened, I felt like I was using it properly.
On the way home, I mentally organized what I would do next, my thoughts processing at maximum speed. The first task: update the game I had created—add new languages, mechanics, classes, and so on.
I planned to push my name as far as possible with this game. Even though only a few people knew I made it, I felt stronger. Not dramatically, but noticeably.
And this game was the perfect foundation.
I arrived home focused, my thoughts lined up like lines of code. I went straight to my room, dropped my backpack, and booted up my computer. The familiar project loaded instantly, welcoming me like an old friend.
I opened the game files and got to work. The first goal was to make the game accessible to more people. I used the languages I knew from my previous life: Portuguese, English, Spanish, Italian. Translating the text felt almost therapeutic. Each word reminded me of that past life, of the lonely moments where learning languages was my escape. Now, it was all connecting to something real—something mine.
While revising the dialogue, another idea struck me: add playable classes. I started simple. "Explorer," "Healer," "Guardian." Each with distinct mechanics, designed to match the playstyles I had observed in early players. It felt like adjusting the branches of a tree so each could grow in its own way.
By midnight, the first prototype was ready. I uploaded the new version with a clear changelog:
> v1.2 — Translations added (PT/EN/ES/IT), three new classes, UI improvements
Before shutting everything down, I dropped the link in a local developers group with a short description. I didn't overthink it I just left it there.
The next day, something had changed.
In literature class, two girls in the front row were talking about "that indie game with flower petals in the credits." And when the teacher walked past my desk, he paused for just a second too long. Maybe he recognized my name from the credits. Or maybe it was coincidence. But it didn't feel like it.
During break, I received a message from the school forum. An invitation for a short interview with the student newspaper. I accepted out of curiosity. The questions were simple how I got the idea, how long it took, what inspired me. I kept it vague. Just enough.
By Friday morning, a brief version of the interview was published on the school's website.
"First-year student creates standout game for the tech showcase!"
My full name was there: Haruki Sakuragi.
That same day, my phone started buzzing with notifications. Comments. Likes. Downloads climbing fast. Students from other classes started approaching me in the halls congratulating me or asking if I'd make another game.
At lunch, as always, I ate alone on the rooftop. I opened the system interface.
[You've received public recognition!]
[Anonymous Fame partially converted into Real Reputation]
[+1 skill point]
For a moment, the world went quiet. As if everything was falling into place.
I felt lighter. Stronger.
I closed the interface slowly and leaned back against the wall, eyes on the clear sky. The game was just beginning to grow.
And for the first time I arrived in this world I too.